Bip
by Shale 101
Summary: Take two phantoms, a cardboard box, a psychotic character youve never met, a One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest inmate, and Ashley J. Williams.  Put in a blender and add salt.  Shake and enjoy.  Warning: This story is sheer crack writing.  Enjoy.


_Bip_

There was a big bang, shortly followed by a bip. No one knows _why_ it was a bip, but it was. Soon after the bip, there was an explosion of color usually associated with something happening. There was a collective groan from all the characters present in the undefined setting from canon and non-canon alike.

"Why do we never seem to have an actual _setting_ in these things?" questioned a psychotic short reddish-brown haired person of the female variety. At least that was the general consensus at the unnamed location—

"We can all read the words, idiot," intoned a shadowy figure in a—"_Names. _Give the readers our_ names._" Erik Destler. The 1989 Englund Phantom adaptation. Jeez, I can't ever have any fun—

The previously mentioned female kicked an upside down cardboard box with a cord running out from the bottom of it. She was rewarded with a yelp.

"Mitch," whined the cardboard box. "Whad ya do that for, O Killer of Fun?"

There was a collective glare from everyone in the room directed toward the cardboard box, which was now in the dead center of a room that hadn't been there before. Now that there was a setting, it was easier to tell who was actually _in_ the room. There were six people present: Mitch, wearing enough layers of clothing to make an Eskimo have a heatstroke; Ashley J. Williams, who was occupied with glaring across the room at a _certain_ phantom of a _certain_ opera house in a _certain_ country known for a _certain_—"Ahem."—type of fry; Erik Destler, looking extremely bad-ass and spooky sitting in the only shadowy bit of the room with his cloak and… _presence_; Leroux Erik, who was glaring back at Ash as if he were the dumbest person ever to have managed to survive an onslaught from a lot of bad things (which he wasn't—_that_ highly sought after title belonged to Van Von Hunter: Hunter of Evil…Stuff); Billy Bibbit was sitting in a comfy-looking chair, twitching slightly and looking paranoid; and then there was the cardboard box.

Mitch sighed and looked at Destler. She was relatively certain that he was just blocking out everyone else. Lucky jerk. She sighed again, rubbed her temples, and warily asked, "Does this one have a plot?"

"I'm not quite sure yet," answered the voice from the cardboard box. "I think… I think it has _potential_. Possibly. Sides," Mitch could almost swear the voice was _grinning_, "I have _muses_ now. That might help."

—And then everyone went back to glaring at the box.

Then there was another bip, and a collective "Uh-oh" echoed across the now echo-y room. The box was starting to giggle maniacally. Trouble was coming, no doubt.

Said trouble picked _that_ moment to come crashing in through the newly created door. Its name was Sue. _Mary-_Sue. The box squeaked and started shaking. The two Eriks grabbed their respective weapons (a sharp object and a Punjab lasso), Mitch grabbed the nearest object that could be used to hit something with (a table lamp), and Ash grabbed his boomstick. Billy, not being one of the bravest characters to begin with, scurried under the cardboard box.

Then, horror of all horrors, it _spoke_. At least, that was the general assumption. It was more like a garbled sort of English-text speak hybrid. And it was a Phangirl.

'Leek, I PWN joo all!!11! Eric is miiiiien!a5784saurdeleventytwelvesuburbs!fdjsk!"

"Is this going to be like a theme for your stories or something?" Mitch inquired while trying (and failing) to glare at both the cardboard box and the Sue. She mentally shrugged and decided to keep glaring at the Sue. It wasn't like she could get rid of the box even if she _wanted_ to anyway. Authors—particularly _fictional_ authors—had this thing about not dying at any cost.

Before Mitch's mental-rant could go any farther, however, the cardboard box replied, "I really hope not. It might be for this one, but…" the box trailed off. Before it could trail back, Billy interrupted.

"MEEP," said Billy.

While this was going on, the two men by the name of Erik were acting like themselves. Unfortunately, Ash was _also_ acting like himself.

"Hey, what brings you down here, Babe? Come for the king?" While Ash was being stupidly flirty (which is odd because he was only _really_ flirty in _Army of Darkness_), Destler and Erik were letting their homicidal tendencies out.

_Swish_ went the Punjab.

_WOOSH_ went the decidedly sharp object.

"Ack, croak, and other such unattractive phrases!" went the Sue as she died a most melodramatic death.

And then it was quiet. It was also quite awkward.

The box coughed politely.

Billy was spit out of the box not so politely and landed on his face. "Why was I here in the first place?" questioned the abused asylum committee.

"Meh" the box seemed to _shrug_ at this "youre kinda cute in an endearing sort of way. Erm… by the way… what was _with_ your _mom_?"

At this, poor Billy Bibbits head exploded, splattering everyone with grey matter and other such icky goops. A second later everything reversed itself and Billy found himself magically unexploded. He twitched.

"Is this _over_ yet? I have a Christine to seduce," said Destler.

"Bleh. I suppose its over…until the _next_ installment," stated the cardboard box. If you listened closely, you probably could have detected the tiny bit of manic-psychotic crazy found in almost everyone who has ever written about fictional characters. Destler, Billy, and Ash disappeared with yet another bip.

Leroux Erik blinked as he realized he had _no speaking parts in this story._ "Why have I not had any speaking parts in this story?"

Mitch shrugged and answered, "The author is an idiot with the attention span of a termite. I'm surprised she actually got this far. This _is_ also the only story she's ever attempted with more than four characters in it, so that might be it too. Or blah blah blah…"

Leroux Erik suddenly wished that he'd taken Nadir's advice to bring ear plugs everywhere he went.

And to think, it _all_ started with a bip…

_**THE END**_

…for now.

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except Mitch and the cardboard box. Erik (both of them) belong to Gaston Leroux and I really hope this doesn't make him roll around in his grave any more than any of the _other_ fics. Ashley J. Williams belongs to Sam Raimi, I think. Billy Bibbit belongs to Ken Kesey. Van Von Hunter belongs to not me. Do a search on vanvonhunter (dot) com. Remove the spaces, insert an actual dot, and remove the parenthesis. I wouldn't bother typing that last sentence except for the fact that if it were me, I might just copy/paste it. Yep. That about covers it…_

A/N: Well. I _really_ hope that the apostrophes show up in this one. This was fun. Wonder if this one seems like a rant in story form too… Meh. Those are fun. I can't believe I forgot to give Erik a speaking part. At least I fixed it.


End file.
